


She-Wolf and her Commander

by vesta02



Series: The She-Wolf and her Commander [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Awkward ducklings in love, Comfort, Crushes, F/M, Fear, Flash Fiction, Fluff, Healing, Introspection, Kissing, Lyrium Withdrawal, Marriage, Near Death Experiences, Post-Trespasser, Prayer, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Trespasser, Romantic love, Sharing Clothes, Tears, Traveling, Trespasser feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:51:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesta02/pseuds/vesta02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts and drabbles featuring Cora Trevelyan, Rogue, and her LI, Cullen Rutherford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Basorexia - An overwhelming desire to kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from Tumblr: Basorexia - An overwhelming desire to kiss

“It’s a  _reel_ , Cullen!” Cora laughed, her features brighter than he’d seen in months, both hands tugging along his wrist. “I promise you can’t mess up too badly. It’s not like we’re dancing in front of the court at the Winter Palace again.”

“Thank the Maker for that,” Cullen mumbled, rubbing his free hand along the back of his neck. The Winter Palace had been disaster enough and it was a miracle he hadn’t trod all over Cora’s feet when they did make it into the ballroom before the final notes of the night had played. This was the complete opposite of the refined and overwhelmingly catty feel of the ballroom at Celene’s palace; the roadside inn was another stop along their way from Skyhold to Ostwick on what was described as a “much needed vacation” from their duties within the Inquisition.

“You go without me,” Cullen gave her a little smile, “I’ll make sure we have food and drinks sorted.” Cora pouted but it seemed her lover wouldn’t be swayed from his path.

Sighing, she smirked, leaning up to ghost her lips against his cheek. “Spoilsport,” She teased, slipping her hands from his. But she didn’t linger, weaving herself into the dance with grace Cullen had only ever seen on the battlefield. Yet, instead of moving with deadly intent, she twirled and spun along with a lightness that had been missing from her in the months leading up to the final confrontation at the Temple.

The last few months had been hard, to say the least. He’d watched her slowly close in upon herself, hardening her edges, hiding away the pain and exhaustion of carrying the weight of the world on her narrow shoulders. She’d slowly stopped smiling, laughing out of habit without conviction behind it, narrowing her focus on the end that approached with a steady sureness. Heavy, he thought, she’d seemed so heavy in the last few months.

Now, however, he saw the spark of his Cora among the group, her hands woven with another woman’s as they spun and clapped. It was like seeing the sun cresting from a cloudy sky, the storm passing and leaving nothing but light along the dew. She threw her head back and laughed with such force and his heart soared to see the happiness all but etched upon her freckled features. Out here they could be anyone, leaving behind the burden of command, and Cora had never looked more lovely that in the dim lighting of the tavern, her smile all but lighting up the room.

In that moment, she was simply Cora, and Cullen had never loved her more than he did now.

His stomach rolled and flipped over the realization that he wanted to stay at her side for the rest of their lives, almost surprising himself with the intensity of emotion that followed. He had loved her for far longer, burned so long for her, but he had been cautious when there had been no true hope or certainty of forever for them. The notion that he didn’t have to worry as much, that they might have a true chance at a future beyond the war they had fought and won, positively overwhelmed him.

The music stopped and Cora clapped along with the crowd, beaming as the musicians got settled for another tune. She caught his gaze on her, her own expression softening as she outstretched her hands to him, an invitation to follow her lead. He had a hundred different desires racing through his mind. Stepping forward, he moved into the crowd, his hands reaching readily for hers.

She was smirking, knowing, amused, asking softly, “Not so afraid to mess up now?”

Caught up in the emotion of his own realization, Cullen didn’t have a smart answer for her, giving in to the one thought that overwhelmed his senses. Cupping her face in his hands, he leaned in, not caring for the eyes upon them, giving in and kissing her soundly. Time seemed frozen a moment, her fingers clutching his shirt, one of his hands weaving gently into her short ebony locks.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life making her smile, hearing her laugh, taking her as his wife if she would have him.

For now it was enough to simply kiss her, to take a tentative lead as the music began again.

(Thankfully she forgave him easily and readily for stepping on her toes more than once.) 


	2. A burning candle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash Fiction prompt: A burning candle

It’s been so long since she’s attempted to pray to anything or anyone. Raised with religion, Cora finds her practice lapsed with years of anger and hurt, pushing out any thought or mention of some higher deity that looks out for her or others. Cullen’s partially to blame for her interest in prayer again as she watches him day in and day out kneeling before the statue of blessed Andraste, whispering benedictions and prayers for all he has seen and all he knows he must endure.

It can’t all be false, not when his belief is so strong.

The candle burns low tonight as she paces their room, unable to sleep. Her hand sparks and sputters as pain shoots up and down her left side. Clenching her fist tightly, Cora tries to count backwards, to think of something happier, but all she feels is pain and the looming sense that this will end in misery for all of them. 

Her husband sleeps and Cora wants to weep at the thought of leaving him now. He looked at her with such certainty and such love, telling her it was well worth it to meet her, to know her, to love her; and this magic, this damned hand seeks to tear it all asunder.

She glances to the alcove where the candle burns, looking into the carved face of Andraste. Did she know she walked a path of danger, death and destruction? Was she a willing martyr? Her lower lips trembles as a small, muffled sob escapes, clamping her right hand to her lips. 

She doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t want to leave. Maybe for a while she thought death was the only way out, but she has so much more to live for. She sinks to the marble floor, arms wrapped around her body, struggling to contain her fears, her sorrow, her anger at everything.

“Cora,” Cullen breathes her name at her ear, warm, sleepy, concerned as he kneels at her level, arms wrapping around her from behind. His touch opens her up as she struggles to breath, to speak, sobbing.

“I don’t want to die, Cullen, I don’t want to die!”


	3. Favorite Jacket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unprompted, Cora wears Cullen's favorite jacket. Post-Trespasser.

“If it’s your _favorite_ , why don’t you wear it more?” Cora smirks from the opposite side of the bed, glancing over her shoulder at her (mildly) exasperated husband before turning her eyes back to the mirror by her side. It’s made from sturdy leather that’s surprisingly supple to the touch as she runs her right hand along the hem that falls just above her hips.

“I _do_ wear it,” Cullen protests, though Cora spots the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth (oh she’s close to getting a real smile out of him), his eyes fixed on her in his coat.

“And yet I’ve managed to wear it more than you,” Cora teases, sticking her tongue out at him in the mirror. “Besides, it looks good on me.”

She expects more banter, perhaps a couple teasing jabs, but his expression has changed. It’s been hard the last few months, leaving the Inquisition, moving their lives to South Reach, Cora adjusting to her new life and change comes slowly. Some days she still feels an overwhelming sense of loss, not only for her arm, but for all she wants to do and all she needs to still try and accomplish. Other days she finds purpose in little things: learning to tie her boots on her own, using Mia’s recipe for stew and, her recent favorite, spoiling Recruit, who slobbers and loves her even on her worst days.

But Cullen always loves her, regardless who wakes up in the morning. He wraps his arms around her, tucking her close to him when she wakes in tears, kisses her, asks her what he can do for her; he takes pride in her small victories and steps back when she’s feeling happier, more upbeat, more like her old self.

He looks at her and Cora sees love, plain and simple as that.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” She asks, though her smirk melts into a smile, gentler than before. He crossing the room, hands reaching out to grab her by the hips when he got close enough, tugging her forward to him.

“I was just thinking,” His hand lifts at the loose sleeve, rolling it up until it fits snugly against her arm, “if you want to wear it, we can tie it like this.” Cullen moves to reach behind her, grabbing a longer tie from her dresser, returning to secure the loose arm in place.

“There,” Cullen murmurs, his hand smoothing down from her arm, resting comfortably at her waist, “now I think it looks better on you.”

Her chest feels light as she stands on tiptoe, her hand grasping his shirt to drag him closer to her level; thankfully he knows to meet her halfway as she presses a delicate kiss to his lips. They linger together, his nose rubbing against hers affectionately.

“Does that mean I can keep it?” She can’t help herself, laughing when he captures her mouth again.

“I suppose we can share,” He breathes against her lips.


	4. Prompt: "I'd like it if you stayed"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Tumblr - "I'd like it if you stayed"

The headache was relentless, pounding behind his eyes from the moment he woke that morning. He murmured prayers, whispers to the Make and his Bride to help Cullen remain strong through the day. His fingers gripped the sides of his desk, trying his damndest to listen, but his mind wandered.

_ Just take it, you need it, you can’t go on like this forever, eventually you’ll simply give in _ .

It whispered to him in shades of blue, desire blooming in his veins. It would help, he thought for a moment, stop the endless spinning and the whirling of the world around him. If he focused just hard enough, he could almost taste the lyrium on his tongue, cool and crisp and filled with promises of order and sense in the endless chaos. Like an old friend, beckoning him back to the darkest recesses of his mind...

“And then, you’ll never believe it, we ran into a pack of  _ giants _ . That’s right,” Cora had been going a mile a minute since she’d stepped into his office, stripping her gloves from her hands, grinning from ear-to-ear as she relayed her report from the Emerald Graves. “ _ giants _ . Plural. It was a shit show but we found the smuggler letters.” 

“Good,” Cullen offered a smile, but it felt strained, “this will help.” Despite his best efforts, Cullen couldn’t quite hide the effects of his withdrawal today. Cora wasn’t stupid and he met her gaze, catching the tail-end of concern as it flickered across her freckled features.

“Cullen, is everything alright?” He’d noticed, long ago, that despite her best efforts, Cora did care about things other than sticking her knives into dragons and chasing down would-be-gods. Her heart was far more tender than she’d ever admit. 

“I…” Cullen paused, briefly wondering if he could wave it off, lie, find a reason for his behavior. But he looked at her and the impulse went away. Things were still new between them as he watched her hovering close enough to touch but remaining apart, her own hesitation evident. 

He’d been taught to be strong during his entire career as a Templar. To never show weakness, especially in front of those he had been tasked to watch over. He could set his lips into a line, clench his jaw and lie; let her walk away and allow him to return to work. But the idea came and went, fleeting and brief, replaced with a partial truth that would suffice for now.

“A headache,” he admitted after a moment, lowering his gaze, “and I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”

Her fingertips traced along his jaw, one hand sliding up to run her fingernails gently against his scalp. Gestures that were far more soothing, far gentler than Cora tried to be. 

“Poor thing,” Cora’s tone was teasing but concern lingered just beneath it. She knew about his restless nights having stayed up with him back in Haven. “Is there anything I can do?”

Someday soon, Cullen thought, he’d tell her the whole truth. He’d tell her about the withdrawal, how it ached in his chest and whispered in his ear. The way he shook and sweat and trembled beneath blue liquid that seemed so innocent, so innocuous. He’d tell her that, no matter how lovingly the lyrium whispered, it paled in comparison to the way she held him close, to the genuine affection she’d begun to show him.

“No,” Cullen shook his head, leaning into his touch, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “But...well…” he paused, clearing his throat, his tone a little lower before, a little more hesitant, “I’d like it if you stayed.”

Cora gave him a smile, soft and gentle, leaning in to press her lips against his lips. “For you? Anything.”


	5. Stargazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on it's own. Cora spends time with Cullen when the two of them can't sleep. Takes place pre-relationship in Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to tidy up my fics which means moving some one-shots into their specific compilations.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Shouldn’t _you_?” Cora smirks but shifts, only a little uncomfortable to find herself standing out in the cold with the commander of the Inquisition forces. Only three days ago Cora had been a suspect, shackled and questioned and looked upon with a range of emotions, from fear to outright disgust to violent rage at the notion that she had killed their Divine.

The radical shift in thought does nothing to comfort her.

Cora doesn’t feel quite safe enough to sleep without fear, tense and uncertain with the shifting factions of Haven. They call her Herald of Andraste now, the chosen one, but the words feel hollow when she says them aloud. She thought prayer might help but it’s done nothing but given her more time to dwell on the impossible task that looms before her. The sky glows green in the night and it’s hard for her to turn her attention away from the swirling spire above what remains of the temple.

It’s a constant reminder of all that’s happened, all that weighs her down and grief mingles with the uncertainty of it all. So many died, including the distant family she’d ridden in with. Cora swallows hard; she can’t let them down, not when she’s all that remains of the fallen conclave.

The commander’s eyes are on her and Cora knows that’s the case for so many of those in charge. No longer suspect, perhaps, but still a mystery to them all. She meets his gaze head-on, one brow raised, waiting for an answer to her question.

“I’m taking watch for the night,” The commander answers her but Cora’s eyes narrow, not certain she quite believes him.

“Don’t you have soldiers to do that, recruits to take the short end of the stick for night watch?” She asks, leaning against the stone wall of the Chantry, arms crossed in an attempt to keep the winter winds from turning her into an icicle.

“I’m not giving jobs to the men that I myself wouldn’t do,” The commander replies firmly. There’s more to his answer and Cora narrows her gaze. Perhaps she doesn’t know him well enough to make snap judgements but there’s something...heavy about him, as though a great weight sits pressed upon his shoulders, a weariness that he never seems to shake. The circles under his eyes are evidence enough in the flickering torchlight. But she doesn’t press it. It’s none of her business, she decides, scuffing her boot against the stone.

“Seems fair enough,” She agrees, her tone gruffer than she actually intends. Perhaps she shouldn’t focus on getting to know any of them here. If all goes according to the shaky plans they’ve conjured up, she might be free once they close the breach in the sky. If that’s the case, she intends to get the job done and escape in any given direction as fast as she possibly can. She dislikes being stuck here, certain in so little of her position beyond what the mark gives her.

They stand in silence a moment longer before the commander clears his throat. “You didn’t answer my question,” He points out, earning a shrug of her shoulders, keeping her gaze pointedly skyward.  
  


"When I was a girl, I used to have nightmares,” As she speaks, Cora winces at the confession, crossing her arms, closing them around herself, to keep anything too personal from getting out, “my father would come and sit with me. We would open the window and he’d teach me constellations. It came in handy when I couldn’t sleep, be it from bad dreams or insomnia. It helped me later on, finding my way through woods and countryside.”

He’s quiet a moment, on the precipice of asking the one question she doesn’t want to answer: is she awake from bad dreams or insomnia? He says nothing though and Cora feels immeasurably grateful, running gloved fingers through her short, black hair.

“Fenrir is my favorite,” She whispers, tracing her fingers along imaginary lines in the sky, “I’ve always liked wolves.” A little grin crosses her lips, aware of her namesake back in Ostwick. She glances to her side, catching a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Do you know it?”

“Vaguely,” He admits, squinting to the stars, “Give me a map any day and I can chart the course across mountains, plan sieges, places everyone where they need to be. I’ve not had the same luck with charting the heavens.”

“It’s patterns, commander,” Cora replies with a little laugh, “I think you’d do just fine with that if you put effort into it.”

“Perhaps,” He muses. They lapse again into a comfortable silence, breaking it only as Cora maps a few more images in the sky, honeyed brown eyes focused in concentration. When she chances a glance to her side, she’s almost surprised as how young the commander looks in the moment. A little relaxed, despite the cold and the company, focused on the sky above, watching his lips form the names of the constellations after she’s said them.

Their eyes meet and something passes between them that Cora dares not name. It’s too strange, too fast, too much. She’s aware of her heartbeat in her chest, a warmth that seems out of place in the cold and the sudden awareness that she hasn’t bathed properly in the last few days. She drops her gaze, shifting, losing her train of thought. He’s handsome, she’ll give him that, but she has no loyalties here. They need her for the mark, it’s all they’ll care about, which means that she needs to look out for herself.

That means she’s not allowed to gaze at ex-Templars and his ridiculous lion’s mane mantle.

“I should probably try to sleep,” She states after a moment, aware that she’s growing at least a little tired again. Perhaps she’ll be lucky, fall into a dreamless sleep, avoid the creatures that haunt the darkest corners of her mind.

“Yes, I suppose you should,” His tone is soft and, for a moment Cora can almost swear she hears a hint of concern in his tone. She brushes it away quickly. “You’re traveling to the Hinterlands tomorrow, correct?”

“Yes,” Cora nods her head, “to find Mother Giselle and try to get some footholds. I’ve heard it’s a real grand time, what between the templars and apostates fighting.” Her grin is cheeky, trying to make light of what she knows it an important trip. “Do try to keep this place in order while I’m gone.”

She doesn’t linger for lengthy goodbyes, pushing away from the wall with a quick, “Goodnight, commander,” as she attempted to breeze away.

“Herald,” His voice calls to her only a few steps away and she glances back. The look exchanged is one of understanding, a knowing of what monsters lurk in their minds when the world’s gone dark. She nods, a quiet acknowledgment but nothing more. “Safe travels tomorrow,” He finishes and she’s quick to leave, hurrying down the steps two at a time to her little cabin.


	6. And Words Fail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is a word that Cora's unfamiliar with as she slowly falls for the Commander.

She doesn’t know when it began, where she fell from the path she was so carefully carving out. Cora’s always been so careful, tucking away her heart, hiding her feelings from plain sight, keeping anything she feels or knows to herself until she’s /certain/ she knows what it means. Her heart isn’t so strong that she can handle rejection easily; perhaps she makes it seem that way, her guards up constantly, but there’s something soft and tender beneath her sarcasm and recklessness.

Her body aches as they ride into Skyhold and, as badly as she wants to soak in her copper tub and forget the events from Crestwood, there’s only one person she wants to see.

How has this happened? When did he become so important to her?

Cora takes the stairs two at a time, ignoring the knowing looks shared between her companions and passing guards as she moves with purpose towards his office off the ramparts. She ignores looks and whispers of soldiers, pausing only briefly to knock on his door.

“Enter!” He doesn’t look up from his work, bent over a stack of precariously balanced papers on his desk. Always working so hard, she muses as she closes the door gently behind her, letting her slender body lean against the wood grain. There’s a frown on his brow, his lips pressed together so tightly as he shifts papers to and from the stack before him. A perfectly coiled curl has come undone from his carefully maintained head and Cora wants nothing more than to press it back into place.

It’s only been a few weeks but she’s burning from the inside out, holding back for the moment, refraining from touching him as she wishes. Instead, her own lips curve into a gentle smile, sighing softly, feeling so utterly tired but completely at peace, knowing that she’s  _home_ -

“Hello,” She says, her voice breaking whatever reverie Cullen’s currently lost within. He starts, blinking, realizing very quickly that she’s standing there, his very serious expression breaking into something softer, quieter, calmer than before.

“You’re back,” He breathes, setting his papers down. There’s a moment where he seems uncertain if he should move around his desk - they’re both still new to this, trying to work through whatever holds them back, finding their feet in a fledgling relationship that she can scarcely believe is real.

She’s covered in dirt, she aches, but the look he gives her nearly sends her to her knees. Cora’s never been bold or brave with men, her own demons and fears keeping her from growing too attached to anyone. Cullen’s managed to get under her skin in the best possible way and, while it’s terrifying, it’s also exhilarating and exciting and-

She’s crossing the room, bold and brave in the moment as Cullen comes around his desk. They meet in the middle and, gliding to her tip-toes, Cora grasps the very top of his breastplate, pulling his mouth to hers. His arms wrap around her, a soft moan escaping as her fingers thread through his hair.

“Maker,” Cullen breathes against her lips, “I missed you, Cora.” He says her name like a prayer and it makes Cora tremble. He holds her close to him, nuzzling against her neck, letting out a slow, uneven breath.

“I know,” She replies quietly, “but I’m back now, I’m home.” Is that what this is? Home? She hasn’t felt at home in years but when his gaze meets hers she’s suddenly so aware of how perfectly right everything feels. She tries to tell herself it’s the newness of it all, it’s the high emotion that comes with a new relationship, that the silver lining will pass and perhaps she’ll find that fatal flaw within him to push herself away again.

But right now all she sees is an emotion that she doesn’t dare name as his lips meet hers again.

“I have a report to write,” Cora murmurs as she pulls away with some reluctance, leaning to press her forehead against his, “and I am in desperate need of a bath,” There’s a flush along his cheeks and she rubs her nose gently against his, “Come find me in an hour? I’ll probably look and smell much better by then.” It’s easy to fall back into snark and teasing as she swallows words of affection that lie on the very tip of her tongue.

He lets of a huff of breath, a laugh that rumbles through him. “I have a few things to finish up, then I’m all yours.”

Maker, she can feel the words bubbling up, lips parting, her heart betraying her for only a moment. She buries the words her heart longs to say, though, as she leans up to capture his lips. With tongue and teeth and the not-so-gentle promise of passion in her bones, she turns swiftly, shooting him a grin and a wink before hurrying out of his office.

Love, she thinks, is this what love feels like? She brushes a gloved hand to her lips. Perhaps, but she doesn’t dwell. If she’s lucky she can sneak through Skyhold without any muss or fuss. A bath is calling her name and the promise of seeing Cullen so very soon ignites a warmth within that spreads from her lips all the way to her toes.

 


	7. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following a brush with the Elder One, Cora wanders the Frostbacks in search of hope, recalling regrets and imagining what might have been.

“We’re dying, but we can decide how. Not many get that choice.”

She doesn’t want to die, yet that seems the only option before her. Haven trembles in the shadow of the enemy and any time she’s bought them with the trebuchet is lost as an archdemon soars through the sky. Part of her wants to cry and scream and rage - she did not choose this, it’s not fair, she’s still too young to die - but she holds it back, lips pressed so tightly in a thin line, trying to keep the howl within her.

“She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could... tell you.”

Cora swallows hard as Chancellor Roderick relays what he knows, the path their only option now. To escape, Haven must be buried and part of her feels dizzy, light-headed at the thought that she might go with it. She recalls the warning Varric gave her nearly a month back, a suggestion to run as soon as she saw the opportunity. This has always been a tragedy in the making.

“What about it, Cullen, will it work?” Their eyes meet and her heart flutters despite the fear the encases her.

“Possibly,” Cullen replies, lips pressed into a grim line, “if he shows us the path,” Roderick has to stay alive just long enough to get their people to safety. Cora glances to the strange boy kneeling by the dying Chancellor. If she has any faith left, it’s in the wild hope that this, their last shot, will be successful. She’s already made up her mind when the commander speaks again, a little softer this time, “but what of your escape?” His words hold an emotion that Cora can’t decipher, heavy and concerned.

She almost laughs, turning her head away from him, keeping their gaze from meeting. If she looks at him, she might break, show the fear that wraps it’s cold fingers around her heart, the truth far too real for her to look in the eye. The odds are slim and she can’t see his reaction to her acceptance of the situation.

The silence is almost unbearable and Cullen briefly offers hope, even if it’s far-flung. “Perhaps you will find a way,” He muses, “perhaps you will surprise it.” He doesn’t miss a beat, whirling on his heels, barking orders for the Inquisition to follow Cole and the Chancellor, to begin their escape if they are to even have a chance at survival.

“They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the treeline,” A pause and Cora meets his gaze again, his brown eyes warm, filled with a quiet sympathy and a hope that perhaps Cora might be wrong. That she will survive this night.

“If we are to have a chance,” He begins, clarifying, “if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.”

It’s only a moment, one look that shows the cracks in her armor. She wishes things were different, that perhaps she had met Cullen under different circumstances. The war stands between them, a divide she can’t quite cross no matter how hard she tries. He has to live, she decides, they all do, even if it means…

“Be careful, Cullen,” She murmurs. For a moment, she thinks he’s going to cross to her, holding her breath for a touch that never comes. Instead he nods his head and then he’s gone.

* * *

 

Pain means she’s alive. Bruised, broken, gasping for breath but she’s _alive_. She wants to laugh but pain shoots through her chest when she breathes in, hysteria bubbling from her lips before turning to a grimace. Slowly, ever so slowly, she eases herself to her knees, hissing in pain before putting all her weight into her hands to stand upright again. The world sways and she clutches her side, the cavern coming into focus.

An accident. A miracle. A twist of fate. She’s not dead and that should be cause enough for joy. But, after a moment of jubilation, a grim realization hits her hard and fast. She doesn’t even know where she is, how far down she’s fallen, just where she’s landed after her face-to-face meeting with an ancient Magister (if she chooses to believe that’s what he is, she hasn’t quite come to any concrete decisions yet). Her stomach twists, knowing she’s alone in this.

It’s not the first time, she reminds herself as she starts to move, each step forward heavy, getting easier with a little movement. She’s been alone in the wilderness before, mapping out pathways through the trees and scouting along the mountain ridges not far from Ostwick. All those times she’s prepared for such a trip though, stocked her pack with supplies to see her through if game is scarce or if something were to happen.

There’s no such luxury this time. She steels herself against the frigid winds, taking the first few tentative steps into the snowstorm that blinds outside.

At first she simply moves, her unsteady, shallow breathing the only thing she tries to focus on. So long as she’s breathing and moving she’s alive and that keeps her going for a short while. But the slopes are slick and she continues to stumble in snow that reaches her knees and sometimes past her hips.

“Come on, Cora,” She growls under her breath, squinting against the spiraling snow around her, throwing an arm up to try and see a clear path through the white that encases the world, “you can do this. Just one foot in front of the other.” She tries to imagine a destination, perhaps a cabin with a roaring fire to greet her with warm clothing, soft furs and something to fill her stomach. She tries to imagine the warmth of such a place and it work only for a moment, wriggling her toes in her boots to try and keep them from growing stiff in the cold and the wet.

Another slip and she tumbles down a particularly steep slope, her body twisting and rolling to the end, plummeting to a sudden stop a few feet below. The air is knocked from her lungs as she tries to take a painful deep breath in, the cold burning in her throat.

It’s then that she hears the howling above the wild winds. She laughs this time, sharp and short as tears freeze in the corners of her eyes. A sign, she’s certain of that, wolves coming for the She-Wolf of Ostwick at last. Should she howl back, she wonders, or perhaps they will simply find her and take her as she is? Her stocky frame might give them something to eat in these cold times. Cora opens her mouth but nothing comes out. It’s only when she turns her head that she sees it: the remains of a campsite. Hope flutters in her chest and she wills herself to move again.

The pain lessens only a little, the shock from her sudden fall wearing off as she rolls to her knees and back to her feet again. The embers are cold though and the winds have already covered up any tracks that might lead her to someone - _anyone_ \- out here on the mountainside.

Regrets fill her mind as she trudges slowly through deep snow, trying to knock ice from her boots, from her jacket in an attempt to stop herself from freezing too quickly in the elements. She’s only twenty-six, she still has so much she wants to do, so many things she has yet to say.

She thinks of her mother, meddling but always loving Cora, of her father and his concern that she be happy, of sisters and brothers who she has loved and laughed and cried with. She didn’t part well with anyone back home and she hasn’t sent news to them since becoming the Herald. She wonders if they know she’s alive, if they will forgive her for the harsh things she’s told them before storming off to conclave in a desperate attempt to hold onto a freedom she no longer knows.

Then there’s the Inquisition, the people who she mistrusted from the first day, the ones who she tried to save. She hopes they made it out at the very least, that the last avalanche burying Haven gave them the time they so desperately needed. Their faces float in front of her, Cassandra with her stern features hiding compassion beneath, of Varric and his jovial laugh, quet and astute Solas, enigmatic Leliana, pragmatic and joyful Josephine, Cullen…

 _Cullen_.

Her eyes close, pausing, shivering in the cold. She wonders, for a breathless moment, if she should have kissed him before she left for the trebuchet. With each step her imagination paints a picture in her mind, dreaming, if only for a moment, what it might be like to curl her fingers in his golden curls, to run her tongue along the scar that traces his lips, if his eyes might follow her movement as though she were the most important, precious thing he’s ever seen.

Sturdy, reliable, devoted Cullen, wrapped in his silly lion’s mane mantle with hope in his eyes back in Haven that she might escape without giving her life. Would he have blushed when she whispered in his ears about all the things she wished he would do to her? She’s seen him turn a very pretty shade of pink when she probed him with questions of his life before, unable to help herself in seeing just how far she could question him before he got flustered. The image is endearing, warm and it comforts her if only for a moment. A sharp breeze brings her swiftly back to her reality.

Cora sways on her feet, narrowing her gaze as she sees another campsite perched further along. Moving grows harder though as she slows, stumbling, struggling on her hands and knees in the snow. Warm embers, she realizes, breathless with hope. These haven’t been abandoned long.

Everything hurts though. She wants to cry but she can’t bring herself to tears, it’s too much effort. She struggles to her feet, shivering violently in the wind. Exhaustion seeps into the corners of her mind and each steps seems to take a lifetime. Close, perhaps, but the vast emptiness before her says that she’s still alone out here. No warm thoughts can urge her on. She tries to speak but nothing comes out, silently urging herself to just take one more step.

 _One more step, just one more, then we can rest_. Perhaps she can sit for a moment, curl up, close her eyes against the cold wind and the heaviness of her limbs. She’s read about freezing to death, wondering if it’s truly painless as she’s heard. Her legs wobble as she sinks into the snow, arms wrapping tightly around her torso, too tired, too dizzy, too lost to move.

Cora doesn’t know how long she’s there, knees frozen with snow and cold, her vision swimming before her as shapes move just beyond her reach. She’s dreaming, she tells herself, hallucinations to make dying in the cold easier. Their words are garbled, as though she’s trying to hear someone underwater and two hands rest on either side of her face. She almost laughs as Cullen’s face swims in front of her, so sure she’s dreaming but it hurts to laugh, managing a grimace and a deep cough that all but sets her insides on fire. It hurts, it hurts and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Herald? Can you hear me?” A pause, a little softer, concerned this time, “ _Cora_ , please, open your eyes.”

“Are you m’knight in shining armor?” Cora forces her eyes open again, catching a brief flicker of relief across the commander’s face. She lifts a hand to touch his scar, to see if he’s real, solid, that it’s not in her head. Maker, that would be a cruel joke, she thinks, gratified with a quick hiss of breath from the very solid Cullen.

“You’re frozen!” He’s ripping his leather gloves from his hands, shoving frozen fingers into the holes before shrugging that stupid lion’s mantle off. It’s softer than she thinks it will be, nuzzling her cheek against the fur as strong arms lift her from the snow. The wind blows and she shudders, feeling so heavy, so quiet, so tired.

“Let them know we’re coming, ready them, she needs-” His voice cuts off and Cora can hear the sounds of the party moving forward, some faster and others slower. She’s grateful, certain her legs wouldn’t take her any further.

“S’cold, Cullen,” She murmurs against the red and black fur, “M’so cold.”

His words are a benediction, a quiet prayer. “Hold on, Cora, just hold on a little longer, we’ve got you now.”

 


	8. Prompted: In a blissful sigh as you fall asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted from Tumblr.

He looks so peaceful when he sleeps. The cares of the day melt from his face, making him appear so much younger and far closer to his actual age. Cora keeps reminding him to smile more but there are days when he’s caught in a rut and can barely manage a grunt in reply to one of her terrible jokes. These days she sees it more and more, watching as the burden of command presses him down further and further.

She’s been away and, despite the fact that she knows she’ll get a much better night’s rest in her own bed, she’s crawled between the sheets of his. Dust from the road clings to her skin, her hair is in desperate need of a wash and she’s bone tired, but her eyes don’t close as she nuzzles in closer to him.

A small kiss to a scar on his shoulder as she listens to the soft exhale from him. Part of her wants to wake him, to rouse Cullen from sleep so she might properly kiss him, curl into the safety of his arms, but in the moonlight she can see dark shadows under his eyes. Lyrium withdrawal can’t be helping the situation either.

Cora doesn’t know what to do with this worried knot of emotions in her chest. The fact that she stays, the fact that she cares terrifies her. But she’s not blind. If she tells him, if she found the courage to say the words to him aloud, she knows he’ll say it back.

She squeezes her eyes shut, sliding an arm across his stomach, pressing herself against his curled back. “I love you,” she sighs against his skin, trying to clear her mind as sleep wraps around her mind. Someday she’ll tell him when he’s awake, when she’s less of a coward; tonight, this is enough.


End file.
